


A Billion Stars Upon Which to Lay Their Heads

by Mossy_Moondark



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: 4 +1, AU, Gen, Pre-Slash, light Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-22 18:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossy_Moondark/pseuds/Mossy_Moondark
Summary: Hastily edited!





	A Billion Stars Upon Which to Lay Their Heads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



> Hastily edited!

1)  
  
  
"Gene, I've got an idea," Jerry leans back in his chair and stretches his legs under the desk. Normally he wouldn't call Gene for this sort of thing, but he's been feeling a little...a little less than optimal about his writing, lately. Which is ridiculous, he's a success, he's been nominated for the Hugo awards, for crissakes.  
  
"Okay, great, shoot it on over."  
  
"But look, it features an evil Enterprise crew -"  
  
"I'm not really interested in the Enterprise being evil, you know what I mean?"  
  
"I do, but trust me on this, it's a great idea. What if there was an ion storm, or some sort of space storm, and the command crew was sent to another time and space during teleportation?"  
  
"Mm,  Harlan sort of already did that with City on the Edge, and Bob wrote Tomorrow is Yesterday, so maybe it's too soon to do another time travel episode."  
  
"Yeah, but this isn't time travel so much as, uh, alternate universe stuff. Y'know how we're all supposed to have a twin somewhere on Earth? This is just like that, except it's a whole other universe. I really think it could work."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Okay, send me a one page synopsis."  
  
"I uh, took the liberty of doing so already. Hope you don't mind."  
  
Jerry hears papers being shuffled around in the background. It's a good idea, a great idea, he knows Gene will go for it so long as he reads the damned thing. Maybe he should have pushed the script Dorothy's way, instead...she was busy enough, though. Might as well go straight to the top. Besides, he had gotten rave reviews when he'd published One Way Street. Admittedly, that was in 1954...  
  
"Yeah, I've got it."  
  
"Okay, let me know what you think."  
  
"Will do."  
  
Jerry throws his arms over his head for a full on, vertebrae cracking stretch before curling forward to readjust the paper in the typewriter. He has a moment where he thinks maybe he should write by hand, but if Gene really likes the synopsis, he'll be on the phone in another minute or so, and there's really no reason for Jerry to wait. After all, there's always next season.  
  
  
  
2)  
  
  
"It's pretty skimpy," said Nichelle, holding up the scrap of fabric that could hardly be called a shirt. "I like it."  
  
Bill nodded. "The skirt's longer than your regular uniform, but given that it also sits lower on the hip - " he shrugged.  
  
"It certainly suits your theory," she said, looking him straight in the eye.  
  
He was, as always, completely unrepentant, shrugging again. "Absolutely. One day you'll all see that I'm right. It's not about how little clothing a woman wears, it's how much a danger she's in of it falling off."  
  
"Mm, I suppose."  
  
In the changing room, she had to admit he was actually right. She looked fabulous, dangerous, even, and once she had the dagger in her boot, hell yes. With any luck, nothing untoward would happen during the big fight.  
  
  
  
3)  
  
"What if McCoy stayed?"  
  
Jerry grimaces, shakes his head even though Gene can't see it. "No, no, he's not that kind of fella."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. We could make it a two parter, have him decide to return in the second half."  
  
"I…I don't know, Gene. I think that's stretching things too far for the viewing audience."  
  
Silence.  
  
"How about this? We write it so the audience wants more, but from the other side of the coin? And then we can make that episode in a year or two, whenever we like?"  
  
"Mm…yeah, I see your point."  
  
Thank god.  
  
  
  
4)  
  
McCoy was the obvious candidate.  
  
While Spock waited for McCoy, he pondered the best action to take. Obviously they were not the command crew of this Enterprise, which led to only one conclusion: they were the command crew of a different Enterprise, one which in all likelihood currently held his own command crew. And, given the manner in which the alternate crew comported themselves, it was imperative he find a way to switch them back to their own ship. The question was, how? And how to ensure it did not happen again?  
  
The door slid open and McCoy was brought in by Security. McCoy's eyes glittered as he quickly glanced around sickbay, making sure, Spock noted, to not turn his back to Spock. Neither member of Security looked pleased, and they held onto the doctor's upper arms firmly. Spock rose and  approached McCoy. He looked at each Security man in turn with a slightly raised eyebrow. Neither one of them were happy to leave him alone with McCoy, their facial expressions making it obvious they would be just outside the door if needed. Unnecessary, of course. "Thank you, gentleman."  
  
Security stepped out of the room, one taking post directly opposite the door, making sure he could see inside when the door was open. An intelligent move; Spock approved.  
  
"Well," McCoy snarled, shoulders tense, fists clenched. "Now what, Spock? Are you going to kill me now that you've gotten me away from the others?"  
  
"Tell me, doctor, from where you think you came?"  
  
"I don't know and I don't care, but I think you'd better explain it to me!"  
  
At least both McCoys has remained true to their colloquial, nonsensical speech. Either that, or alternate McCoy was fishing for information. "I would appreciate hearing your opinion first," Spock answered.  
  
McCoy glared at him, half turned away, then swung forward again. "I know you know what's going on here, Spock. I see you left your personal guard outside, so does that mean we're making a deal? Are you going to send me back?"  
  
"If I can, yes."  
  
"If you can?" McCoy stepped right up to Spock. "Are you telling me you can't?"  
  
"Further research is needed."  
  
McCoy was red faced, and though no moisture showed on his face, Spock could smell his perspiration, and under that, a bitter, somewhat smoky odor he associated with psychedelic plant material. That might explain McCoy's poor sentence construction as well as his emotions. Although, anger was the over-riding feeling.  
  
"Spock! Don't give me that hairy eyeball, just send me back! I know you're not one of us - you would have killed Kirk already if you wanted to."  
  
"An astute observation, doctor," he replied, leaning to one side to retrieve the medical tricorder. His moment of inattention was all it took.  
  
McCoy threw a punch to Spock's midsection, followed by a swift blow to the ribs and then, overhand, another to his shoulder blade. Spock responded by spreading both of his arms to block the next blow. It left him open to a knee to the chest or chin, but apparently that move never occurred to McCoy, who opted  to try and punch Spock again. Spock was moving by then, so the punch only glanced off of his ribcage. Painful, but hardly debilitating. Clearly McCoy was not to be trusted.  
  
And he, himself, was not any better. While one part of his mind was occupied with how to explain to Jim what he was going to do, the other part - the Human part were in complete agreement. Spock straightened, put his arm against McCoy's throat and shoved him back to the the nearest wall, slapping other his hand onto his face at the same time. "My mind to your mind," he whispered, wondering at his own actions even as he forced the mind meld.  
  
Eyes rolling wide with terror, McCoy gasped.  
  
Spock had melded with his McCoy before. McCoy was only human, his mind filled with all sorts of junk, but also incredible knowledge and, though Spock hated to admit it to himself, a great fondness for Vulcans in general, and himself in particular.  
  
As always, the mind of a Human was never so tidy as that of a Vulcan. It was if he were drifting through a sea of mists and clouds, with glimpses of solid objects here and there. And, as always, much of the time, the closer he drew to some of those objects, the more they were obscured by those very same clouds. He could, of course, rip them away, but it was a rude and damaging thing to do, utterly unethical outside of great times of need.  
  
Of which this, he believed, was one.  
  
Alternate McCoy was not the man he was familiar with. This McCoy was infected by thoughts and deeds that should have disqualified him to work in Medicine, indeed, in any field related to Medicine, whether physical or mental. Spock had wondered if he would be able to keep this McCoy, should he not be able to retrieve the real one, but it was clear this was not going to be possible. This McCoy was too foreign a creature...more was the pity.  
  
Spock backed away, leaving McCoy gasping as he slid down the wall. He keyed for Security and when they came in, gestured towards McCoy. "Return him to the brig."  
  
"Aye aye, sir."  
  
"No...you can't!" McCoy said, and then more loudly, "You can't! Spock! They'll kill me, you know what they'll do!"  
  
Spock assumed parade rest, looked at McCoy curiously. "Why would they do that?"  
  
"Because you've done something to me! I can feel it...I want to stay here! Here in this Enterprise! I can't go back, you've contaminated me with your damned mind meld - don't say you haven't! I've seen what you've done, driving men mad, putting thoughts inside their heads!"  
  
"<i>I</i> have done no such thing, Dr. McCoy," said Spock, noting the ease with with Security held him down. The mind meld had confirmed McCoy was addicted to several psychotropics, and having been without them for some time, was now greatly affected by the lack. Undoubtedly he would have to be taken to sick bay sooner rather than later. "Keep them on watch, and separate the doctor if necessary."  
  
McCoy began to struggle as he was taken towards the door. "Spock! I want to stay here! I know you'll treat me well, I've seen what's in your mind, too! I'm not him, but I cou- "  
  
The door slid shut, cutting him off, leaving Spock more perturbed that he was wont to be. Perhaps it was McCoy's drug use that allowed him some transference of Spock's thoughts...or maybe, as a doctor, albeit a terrible one, he was naturally more empathetic than most. The possibility he liked the least, but that he also had to consider, was that his practice was insufficient to the task. There was only one way to find out, yet Alternate Uhura was too great of a risk. He sat down and keyed the comm. "Sick bay, please have Nurse Chapel attend Commander Spock in my office."  
  
  
  
1A)  
  
Did he regret staying?  
  
Sometimes.  
  
McCoy walked through the halls of the Enterprise with his personal guard - well, the guard Spock had assigned to him. He could have lived without the guard. Sort of. He wouldn't have lived particularly long without the guard, but...well. He had made his decision, and now he had to...live with it.    
  
Thing was, this Spock wasn't very different from his Spock, on the NCC 1701. He had to think of that ship that way, now, to avoid confusion in his own mind. Everyone else was...radically different. Their natures run wild, without cap. Yes, it was how this culture and society operated, that didn't mean he had to like it. Spock, however, was the solid rock amidst the rushing water, and McCoy clung to him for safety and shelter.  
  
Besides, the forced mind meld had made it clear that while Spock was basically Spock in at least two alternate temporal zones, this Spock was desperately lonely. Jim was not a companion, here. No, he was even more of a hot head, as was, well, everyone.  
  
"Spose it was inevitable, really," McCoy muttered to himself softly. Jim and Uhura had looked at him strangely for the first day or two, before Spock zapped him with the mind meld in lieu of the agonizer, and now most folks thought he was different because of that. Which was fine with him. Needless violence wasn't in his nature and it was easier to simply say Spock had changed him, than admit he wasn't the original McCoy - there was a joke in there, somewhere - in the first place.  
  
At Spock's quarters, he palmed the admit and waited for the door to open. Always took a bit, on this Enterprise. Engineering didn't run as smoothly, what with the constant threat of death by misadventure via one of one's crew mates.  
  
Spock glanced up at McCoy and wordlessly headed towards the Tri-D chess set. McCoy followed, relieved to leave the guard outside. Relieved to be able to be himself.  
  
They sat in silence for some time, before Spock requested a meal for two. McCoy had the feeling Spock was only doing it to be social, and he was grateful. It seemed to him that Spock showed his human side around him, as he didn't for others. Wisely. Too big a chance for someone to take advantage of his mixed species status.  
  
When their meal arrived, he uncovered the dishes on the sidetable, raised an eyebrow. "Spaghetti and meatballs?"  
  
In turn, Spock raised both eyebrows. "A commonality between our two universes."  
  
"And every one hereafter, I hope," McCoy answered, gathering silverware and bringing it to the desk. "Some things <i>should</i> be universal. Spaghetti and meatballs, brownies,  oven toast."  
  
"Cheese and bread in all its myriad forms," said Spock, sitting in his seat with his own plate.  
  
McCoy nodded. "Grilled cheese, cheese on toast, Welsh rarebit, cheese fondue, cheese toasties,  mac and cheese."  
  
Spock stared at him. "Macaroni and cheese is not cheese and bread."  
  
"No, but it is cheese and grain, which is what cheese and bread is pared down to at its most basic."  
  
Conceding the point with a tilt of his head, Spock twirled his fork in his green spaghetti.  
  
"Spinach pasta? Isn't that cannibalism?" McCoy jabbed a meatball with his knife. Meat, meat in this universe did not have the same flavor. It wasn't off, precisely, so much as a muskiness on the back of his throat that was very present. Like lamb just as it aged into mutton. Or goat. Or duck.  
  
"I know not what 'spinach' is, but it has no reference to the color of my blood."  
  
"Ah...well. That's good. I'm glad."  
  
And he was, because he needed Spock alive and healthy. Not only for his help in facing the future, but for the sake of McCoy's own sanity. Little wonder the Captain of the NCC 1701 had been so distraught, coming back from New York city after Edith Keeler's death. McCoy hadn't been unaffected - he also hadn't fallen in love. He mentally shook himself. He hadn't traveled in time, again, he was just in a new universe. Maybe someday there would be an opportunity to return home - to NCC 1701.

Until then, he would stick to Spock's side like a limpet.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a really odd one, but I hope suits your tastes, rosecake!


End file.
